To Love and to Fall
by marakparker
Summary: British heiress Gemma escapes from an arranged marriage to live with her cousin just out of Paris. Absorbed in "finding" a talent, her world is changed forever when she meets Leo, an artist who carefully hides his dark, shadowy depths till its too late.
1. Chapter 1

The midnight air was frigid, sharp, the wind racking her body like a thousand sharp icy needles. She closed her eyes, black lashes dark against her porcelain skin. His face danced before her eyes, the right side lit with a smile like sunshine and the familiar contours of his beautiful face, the other dark, green eyes glimmering in malice, hands curled into a fist- waiting. The two images jarred angrily, slamming into eachother for full possession of the face as a whole. She shook her head, trying to banish it altogether,

When it became impossible to bar the disturbing clash of her heart and mind, she crept from the hard bed, the ancient floorboards groaning for mercy beneath the slightest touch of her foot. The window, cracked into a million segments, groaned threateningly, the blizzard sealing the pieces together.

The pale blue light that faintly streamed through the snow-covered broken window was that of a full moon, faintly trying to find it's way into the darkness of her life. She touched the delicate window lightly, wondering when the wind would be quite strong enough to finally shatter the fragile shield.

Letting her pale hand drop, she moved as if in a dream to her mirror, the only fine thing she'd managed to retain without damage throughout hard winter months. In the misted surface, barely lit by the midnight glow, she could barely make out a reflection. Leaning in closer, still propelled by some unconscious dream-like force, she made out the pale ghost of a painfully thin figure, her long ebony tresses falling over her slight shoulders in tangled waves, framing that face she could hardly recognize. Her fingers reached up, touching the skin of her face, tracing the deep shadows that spanned out like dark, dancing patterns beneath the white of her skin..Those bruises, she felt, would never fade. He had marked her forever.


	2. The Beginning of the End

_Six months earlier._

I practically sprang out of the carriage, my suitcase tumbling out right after me. My eyes, bright with curiosity and an innocence that only a woman unaware of the true, full world could truly possess—I couldn't help but let a smile spread over my face. It was just as beautiful as I could have possibly imagined, I thought as I stood there, bags in hand as I took in the new universe that buzzed and crashed around me. It was a summer of love and fresh start in Paris that summer I knew- I could feel it instantly. The endless span of white stone, the distinct smell of bread and rich candles, and the gorgeous expanse of blue-bird sky stretched out like a canvas- and I was the main subject of the painting.

"Gemma?" I heard my name with a start. Awoken from my dream-like daze over the city of lights- I turned my head in the speaker's direction.

Before me stood a tiny little dark haired young woman with a mane of crazy dark brown curls, olive complexion and a splattering of freckles despite her dark skin across her cheekbones- hazel eyes bright and sprightly. She was cute, in her way, but so small and petite that her likeness to a doll was uncanny. I suddenly recognized her- shrieking with more melodramatics than was normal for me by far- hugging my cousin so tight I'm sure all the air had been entirely squeezed from her lungs.

. My cousin Evangeline and I had spent countless summers together in my stuffy home in England- but this was the first time I'd come to Paris to stay with her- and I'd come a free woman.

This said—I'd left behind my family and all their wealth were now forever. I'd run away from my role in the biggest wedding in England since the King and Queen themselves. Every lord and lady from all the best families were invited to the wedding of Lady Gemma Katherine Silverbrook and the esteemed Lord William Jorge Parker- the two wealthiest unmarried singles in the court. He, naturally, was an old wrinkled widower with as many liver-spots as he had prosperity.

But I'd known better .I wanted to give to the world- to be a bohemian independent- although mostly I'd just liked the sound of it. I felt I just couldn't stand to bare the suffocation of the spirit boiling inside of me- I bolted. I left my family, my inheritance, my honor and my titles- and probably shamed my poor parents forever. But I hadn't cared- it was time for me to grow. And I'd known exactly where to go.

Paris was the place, I knew that at once. In a new universe of artists and musicians and dancers- I wanted to be a part of it. What, exactly, my special talent was—I was yet to discover quite yet. I was convinced, however, that I possessed some sort of artistic expression..

The first few days in Evangeline's home were good ones- the estate had been passed down to her from her parents after they'd died a few years back. It was close enough to the city I'd come to set my goals and dreams upon- but isolated enough, I'd felt, for creative thought and isolation.

It was a beautiful, classic, if not grandiose home- made entirely of aged stone, ivy creeping up through the sparkling clear windows, sunlight bathing everything in it's soft yellow gold rays. I spent many an hour wandering about the lush gardens, overflowing with roses and lilies, hidden ponds and fountains covered in moss spurting up behind hidden walls of greenery.

We were in the kitchen one evening after I'd had a frustrating evening out back- trying desperately to form the right words on a page for a poem- and failing miserably, when Evangeline offered her insight. "Well," She'd smiled at me, deep hazel eyes gazing at me with her almost surreal calm, "Why are you trying so hard to find the art? Perhaps the art will find you. You are with me in France, are you not?" Her heavily accented words sank deep within me, resonating.

Two days later after having pondered this idea for days- and quite a few low moments where I'd considered that maybe it wasn't in the cards for me to create- I decided to go to Paris.

"Ooh- see? Inspiration may lay everywhere. I will come with you and introduce you to some of my bohemian friends." Evangeline exclaimed enthusiastically, running a brush through her unruly hair. I grinned, thrilled with her reaction- and her offer.

And as we got into the carriage, the heat sweltering, she added, "And the shopping is good too- that's the most important thing."

I laughed as the coachman prodded the horses and the carriage sprang to life.

We were off the Paris once more. It would be the beginning of the end. It would lead to the start of a very beautiful romance. And it would mark the lurking shadow of fate as it spiraled down a very dark path.


	3. Tormented artist? Rather, tormenting!

We were traveling along a cobblestone road beside the river when Evangeline screamed a violent curse, stepping on a shattered wine glass in front of the old, romantic apartment we had come to meet one of her oldest friends- and a past lover, I'd managed to squeeze out of her. Apparently his art was passionate- but fueled by a "dark, shadowy underside" of him she felt was too complicated to understand. Her wild mess of curls falling across her downcast face as she stared at her foot, she cursed over and over, more and more foully, I might add as well. "Leo!!" She screamed in French. "Get your good-for-nothing ass out here and apologize you—" she proceeded to use some more colorful language I hadn't even heard before.

As I stood there in shock, watching the white hem of her dress slowly soak in a deep crimson, I felt a sudden detachment from my body, as if I were floating above myself.

I was vaguely aware of a man with us, and the flash of a pair of truly gorgeous brilliant green eyes, but I just couldn't focus. "Oh," I heard him say- in English I might add-, "Eva- we've got a faint one here."

Her only response was a flurry of truly awful words that had I not been so out of it- would have made me blush quite badly.

I felt my eyes slowly focusing again- and when they finally recognized a shape again- it was the awful, shredded bloody underside of her glass sliced foot. Without the least bit of grace, I felt the air whoosh out of me, accompanied by an unattractive, "OOF" sound, before my head was filled with a crash of onyx waves as the blackness slammed over my eyes.

When I resurfaced, I was in the arms of the most beautiful boys I had ever seen. His dark, sun-streaked curls hung around his gem-green eyes, his prominent jaw and chiseled features making up a face worthy of an angel. I stared, blinking several times.

"Hey," He breathed, "You ok?"

I continued to blink, wishing with all my heart that somehow he could turn out to be real- not some hopeful dream…

He didn't disappear. You can imagine my joy. I tried to smile, but I felt so shaky I could hardly manage it. "Hello. I'm…a little off my balance, I'm afraid." I laughed, though the sound had a slight trace of nervousness.

He slowly helped me to my feet. "I've been waiting for you to wake up for ten minutes now."

My memory returned in a flash. "Evangeline!" I recalled, alarmed.

"She's fine." He said soothingly. "The glass didn't go in- just cut open an ugly shallow gash."

"It was enough to make me faint." I said, feeling humiliated so thoroughly that I could hardly stand looking him in the eye.

We had straightened up then, but he still had his hands securely fixed on my waist. His green eyes searched my face and something registered within those emerald depths.

I stared at him, my uptight upbringing suddenly making me aware of the inappropriate way he was looking at me- and that the necessity for his arms to be wrapped around me was no longer existent. Who did he think he was, exactly? "Well, I'm fine now, so if you'd like to remove your hands from my waist." I said icily, moving past him.

An amused look crossed over his irresistible face, the corners of his mouth turning up in a telltale of an almost smile. "And you want to be a free-spirited artist?" He asked me, grinning as he moved to stand in front of me again.

Despite my small thrill at the pure sweetness of that simple smile, I ignored him, pushing past him again. "Yes, I do. However 'free spirited' does not apply to how I let men treat me. I have respect." I insisted, pushing a glossy lock of my inky black hair behind my ear as I observed his small kitchen, painted a messy deep red, the single, enormous window overlooking the river and a faint glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.

"A little defensive, perhaps?" I heard him say, but at that point I was entirely fixated with the view. So much so that I didn't really notice when he came up behind me, looking over my shoulder.

"You like the view?" He wondered quietly after I gazed on for a few minutes.

"It's beautiful," I turned around, and found myself quite closer than I expected. "Paris, is beautiful."

He nodded. "That it is. Filled with so much love…" He shook his head, "And so much tragedy."

"Oh?" I said, hoping that when I sidestepped him it didn't appear to be a strained movement. He didn't seem to notice, still wrapped up in his thoughts. "Is that what inspires you to paint?"

He looked at me again, emerald eyes filled with an unpredicted level of intensity. "The tragedy?"

"Yes. The sorrows of life."

He hesitated, before nodding slowly. "Yes, I suppose that's very accurate."

At that moment, Evangeline stomped around the corner; hand on her hips, white bandage on her foot- to my relief. She looked wilder and more beautiful than ever, and I suddenly remembered that this mysterious stranger and her had once been lovers. For some reason, this made me feel a hot, sticky uncomfort.

"You know, you're a bloody bastard for leaving that bottle out there like that." She snapped. Her fierce expression left me scared for him.

"It was very irresponsible, you're right," He smiled, coming forward to take both of her hands. "But I'm glad you came, bandaged or not." He kissed both her cheeks. I glanced at my feet, wondering why I felt so eager to leave all of the sudden.

"Eh," She waved him off. "I did not come here to see you. I came, because you have talent." She eyed him critically. "Unless you've lost it? Would not be surprised at all."

"Oh, Eva, thorny as ever." He sighed. "No, I still paint with the same capability. I'd love to show her."

She smiled at him angelically. "Oh well then, you're partially forgiven."

He gave her an exasperated stare before taking my hand easily; leading me around a corner- and up the steepest, least reliable wood staircase I'd ever seen.

My bravery was rewarded, however, when I reached the top. The attic of a sort, the worn wood room held the distinct scent of candles and oil paints- and for some reason, I thought it was the best smell in the world. There were two windows on either side of the otherwise dark room, and each had gorgeous scenery below. But that wasn't the most spectacular part – by far. Canvass after canvass covered the walls, each unique, some splattered with a furious array of colors- others precise- paintings of women, of a single tree, of the ocean, of Paris- simple patterns, complex, angry splashes of red against the white. It was all so insanely different than each other- and yet, all had the same sort of feel to them.

"You like it?" I heard him say after what I'm sure was at least twenty minutes of my staring, open-mouthed.

I swallowed, turning to face him. "Spectacular," I managed to breathe. "It's wonderful."

His white flash of teeth was followed by a little, mocking bow, "Glad you like it, oh lady of Britain."

"Lady of Britain?" I scoffed. "That has to be the very last thing I'd like to be called."

"Gemma then?" He smirked. "A little too 'informal' for you, isn't it though?"

I shrugged. "Well, you're clearly a talented artist I could learn from. I suppose that it'd be fine if you called me Gemma- for now." I added warningly.

He rolled his eyes, "Well thanks ever so much. I suppose I just wasn't worth the courtesy of being able to call you by your name until you realized I could be potentially gifted."

I shrugged. "Well, now we are acquainted."

"Now that you've realized I'm a genius, only, though." He insisted, smiling easily now.

I was irritated with his tone. "I don't need to explain myself to you."

"Oh don't you? Then why are you trying so hard?" His smile had disappeared, although the amused gleam in his eye was still there to annoy me to no end. "Are you trying to impress me ever so much?"

"You are a bit too obviously aware that you're talented, Mr. Leo- and might I say you don't mind bragging. For your ego- your art is not all that good you know." I lied. "I've seen better. Don't puff yourself up." And with that, I went downstairs, thoroughly annoyed.

Evangeline was sitting in a chair, dozing out to the sound of piano drifting from outside when I grabbed her hand. "Let's go, cousin, shall we?" I said, smiling tightly.

"Oh, irritating you already, Gemma?" She rolled her eyes. "Well I must say auvoir to him first."

"Oh of course," I said sarcastically, plopping down in the chair next to hers. "I thought you hated him."

"It's all an act," She smiled, "We both pretend to hate eachother a lot- its what we're used to. We're really very close friends."

I sighed. "Well I think he's totally AWFUL."

"Yes, he is." She agreed full heartedly. "Now if you'll let me say goodbye we'll be on our way immediately.


	4. Not Quite so Awful

Despite my protests, Evangeline and I eventually settled on going back to see the aloof, rude Leo Caprico. And although I feigned an ever increasing dislike of the man- there was something about him- and his work- that continued to haunt my thoughts. The way his green eyes had followed me as we'd left the house, dark and with a look so intense I was almost unsure of how to meet his gaze. I'm sure I'd just glanced at him with as much confusion as I felt.

We managed to re-enter his apartment without catastrophe- Leo had kindly swept up the broken bottle from the road since then. Evangeline sniffed when she saw the sparkling pavement, but her hazel eyes stayed wary as she picked her steps to his door. I smiled at her caution, and strode forward confidently. I was in a better mood that day, having concluded that 'free-spirited' was exactly my flaw- because I was too stiff! I wanted this character to open me up, to let forget my life in Britain. And as he met us at the door, unsmiling but not unfriendly, I knew he was exactly to person to let me do that.

He nodded at Evangeline when we got to him. "How's the foot?"

She rolled her eyes, "Functional. I've decided I deserve a payment, however, for your stupid bottle that might have cut off my entire foot!"

. "That's a bit dramatic," He sighed boredly.

I smiled a little at his oh so disinterested expression- and suddenly his attention focused entirely on me. The change was so sudden Evangeline stopped her fiery comeback midway to observe the exchange curiously. He kept staring at me with no regard, green eyes unreadable.

I stepped back unconsciously, and he didn't miss the movement. In a flash he was back to normal, looking bored and carefree as ever. "Hmm." His glance flickered back to Eva. "Are you coming inside or not?" He asked flatly, turning around without an answer and making towards the door.

She nodded, and looked at me with a sudden nervous touch to her serene features. I lifted my shoulders in response and she looked away hurriedly, following him indoors.

After a few minutes of their seemingly harmless banter, Evangeline abruptly insisted that she had to go meet up with an old friend she knew from school—and with just a small little look of aknowledgement from him and she was off in a flounce of lace and pearls. I glanced at him. He was leaning, one hand against his wall, the other holding a cigarette to his mouth, exhaling slowly.

I paused uncomfortably, "Well then, can I see what your working on?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

We spent hours up in that attic as he silently splashed vivid colors across the , red, black- so much black. I watched in silent fascination, floods of unbearably strong emotions overwhelming me on every stroke. I couldn't even hardly comprehend the way his art moved me- especially watching it come to be. Those were the hours in which I slowly, irrevocably fell in love with Leo Caprico.

After Evangeline dragged me off to go into town with her for coffee and chocolate', I was so imprisoned by the effect of his talent that I could hardly focus on my cousin- who irritatedly snapped a fan in front of my face. "Madmoiselle, are you in love with my ex?" She demanded.

I blinked, blushing into the depths of my coffee cup. "No, of course not."

"Then WHY are you staring into space like a lovesick child?" She asked me airily, winking conspicuously at the waiter as he set her down another latte.

"I was just thinking about his art, is all," I lied.

"Mmm," She didn't believe me for a second."He is a very handsome man."

"I know," I shrugged.

"But he's a piece of work- a bad one. Trust me." Her face was suddenly very serious.

I knew that he was a 'bad boy' but I had no problem with that whatsoever. There was something about him that compelled me- whether it be the way he could entrance me by colors on a page- or just some deep essence of him.

"Hmm," Her eyes narrowed as she watched me, "You know, there's this boy."

"What?" I said, a little confused by the change of subject.

"His name is Philip- and I like him very much." She fanned herself as she explained something I found rather irrelevant to the previous subject.

"Oh…" I furrowed my brow, utterly puzzled to the reason she was letting me know whom she fancied on such a random note.

"So we're going to see him," She clarified. "Tonight. He's having a party."

My instant thought was whether or not Leo would be there, but she quickly dashed my hopes. "It's not an artist's circle of friends though- Philip's an aristocrat."

I'd had enough of those in my lifetime, I thought to myself, irritatedly. "I thought you were…" I looked at her. "Opposed to all that."

"Oh, no- I'm very tolerant of everyone. Yes, generally I favor the Bohemian lifestyle- but of course, Philip is an exception." She grinned wickedly.

Utterly put out, I sipped my coffee. "And you want me to come?"

"Yes." She said with so much conviction I doubted I had much of a choice.


End file.
